


Night Fury

by The_Jade_Samurai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: AND HE'S RIDING TOOTHLESS, Everyone loves the Targaryens, Except a few assholes of course, F/M, Family Feuds, Friendship/Love, Gendry's trueborn, Jon and Gendry are bros, Jon's a badass dragon rider, Lannister's are pricks still, Only in terms of dragons though, Rhaegar and Robert are bros, Robert's Rebellion never happened, The Dragons never died, War, and an awesome swordsman, and there's more than one species, slight crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-09-29 05:55:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17197805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jade_Samurai/pseuds/The_Jade_Samurai
Summary: Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife, Lyanna Stark are loved by the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. Their children, Rhaenys, Aegon and Jon, are just as loved, and the Noble Houses of Wetseros are as beloved as their parents. Dragons fly over King's Landing, casting shadows of security and peace.But Jon was born with an innate desire to fly with his dragon Toothless West of Westeros to escape his restrictive life as prince. But when he is forced to attend a feast after defying his parents' orders, he meets someone who might just tame his wild side.





	1. Chapter 1

Night had long since come upon King’s Landing and the only sound in the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast were the taps of Rhaegar’s boots on the stone floor as he paced up and down the hall. For hours he had been doing that, waiting impatiently while the maesters and maids worked tirelessly to help his wife Lyanna birth their child, but this birth was taking far longer than the births of his first two children Rhaenys and Aegon.

In the pocket of his robes, Rhaegar’s hand was clutched firmly around the smooth, black dragon’s egg spotted with blue flecks. Rhaegar had known that his and Lyanna’s child was about to come into the world when the small egg had began wobbling slightly of its own accord and chirping sounded from within, and soon after that Lyanna had gone into labour.

The interesting thing was, why this egg? It was most unusual for a dragon egg; it was smaller by about half, and the shell was smooth and unblemished, unlike all other dragon eggs which were scaly like the animals that they housed. Because of the abnormality of the egg Rhaegar was curious to know what the dragon would look like, and why it had chosen his third child.

Inside Rhaegar’s pocket, the egg suddenly began to shake more violently, and the chirping grew louder. Rhaegar eagerly looked up to the door of Lyanna’s rooms just as the weary Grand Maester stepped outside, but the old man had a smile on his face.

“Congratulation Your Grace, you have another son,” said the maester tiredly.

“Is Lyanna well?” asked Rhaegar worriedly.

“The birth has taken its toll on the queen, but she is fine and should make a full recovery,” answered the maester.

“May I see them now?”

“Of course Your Grace.”

Rhaegar did not hesitate as he politely pushed past the maester into the room, eager to see his wife and new son. Maids, septas and other maesters all bowed as Rhaegar approached the bed, where Lyanna was cradling a bundle of swaddling clothes. She looked beyond exhausted, but her dark grey eyes were alight with excitement and joy, which served to ease Rhaegar’s fears. He came over and gently kissed his wife’s sweaty brow before peering down into the small bundle cradled in Lyanna’s arms.

The baby was unusually quiet and had a frown on his little pink, plump face, which Rhaegar couldn’t help but find amusing, There was a little patch of dark hair atop of the baby’s head, and when he opened his eyes, dark grey eyes stared into Rhaegar’s violet. Rhaegar found himself fall in love with the little boy. For a long time the couple looked down at their new son, the outside world completely oblivious to them as the servants worked to clean up the mess caused by the birth.

“He’s all Stark,” commented Rhaegar, “not an ounce of me in him.”

“He might grow to look more like you later on,” said Lyanna quietly, “but he could end up taking after Ned.”

The little baby yawned widely and closed his eyes again, seemingly content with what he had seen for now.

“What shall we call him?” asked Lyanna.

“I was thinking Jaeherys Targaryen,” suggested Rhaegar, but Lyanna frowned.

“That’s a mouthful,” she said.

“You don’t like it?” asked Rhaegar.

“I do, but...” Lyanna’s voice trailed off, and Rhaegar guessed her thoughts.

“You want to give him a Northern name,” he guessed.

“Is that okay?” said Lyanna, her brow furrowed with worry.

“We can give him two names,” offered Rhaegar. “Jaeherys can be his true name, but amongst family he can be called-”

“Jon,” Lyanna quickly said.

“Jon?” repeated Rhaegar.

“It’s a strong Northern name,” insisted Lyanna, “and it will also strengthen the connection between the Crown to Winterfell and the rest of the North.”

“Jon,” said Rhaegar again, testing the name on his tongue. “I like it.”

Lyanna smiled, and Rhaegar couldn’t resist the urge to kiss his young wife. It was short, but sweet and full of love and affection.

The egg in Rhaegar’s pocket wobbled again, startling him as he had completely forgotten about it in the wake of his son’s birth. He pulled it out, and after placing it on the nearby table he, along with Lyanna watched it intently as the little dragon persisted in pushing its way out of confinement. After an age, the little dragon finally hatched from its egg, and Rhaegar couldn’t help but let out a gasp of surprise.

At first he thought it was a black kitten with an overlong tail, until he noticed the wings on its back. It was about the size of a kitten, but unlike any dragon Rhaegar had ever seen before. It had four legs instead of two like a regular dragon, a short neck with a wide head and large green eyes. Its scales were smooth like leather, and on its long thin tail were two sets of strange fins, one set on the base and the other set at the end. Around its head were several nubs, similar to how most dragons had a crown of horns, but the crown on this particular dragon seemed more like large scales, with the largest set resembling cat’s ears.

“Seven Hells, it’s a whole new species of dragon!” exclaimed Rhaegar, while the little black dragon let out a low warble.


	2. The Greatest Dragon Rider

Tens of thousands of people from all across the Seven Kingdoms pushed through the streets of King’s Landing towards the dragon pit, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. On this day was the opening ceremony of the legendary Autumn Festival, which was to be kickstarted by a spectacular show hosted by the Targaryens, the royal family of the Seven Kingdoms. It was to be a grand spectacle, one that would keep the highborn and lowborn alike talking for years to come, right up until the next time autumn comes, whenever that might be. It could continue on to next year, which in that case then there’d be another Autumn festival, but then again, no one could accurately predict how the seasons could change.

Rhaegar watched from his seat in the dragon pit as lords and ladies from all over Westeros poured in to take their places under their designated banners. He could see the golden lion of House Lannister, the falcon of house Arryn, the rose of the Tyrells, the rearing stag of House Baratheon, the the orange sun and spear of the Martells and the blue and red trout of the Tullys. In between the Great Houses sat many of their sworn bannermen, yet the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen stood the proudest. But where was Rhaegar’s cousin, Lord Robert Baratheon? He was not one to be late to these sort of- oh, there he was, arriving fashionably late alongside his daughter-by-law Arya Stark.

As far as Rhaegar knew, the only Great House not attending today’s show or the coming weeks would be House Stark not including Lady Arya, Ser Brandon or his own wife, which was perfectly understandable as Lord Eddard lived the furtherest away from King’s Landing, and there was a need to prepare his people for the coming winter. Rhaegar knew that his wife Lyanna had been had been a little disappointed, but being a Stark herself she had understood her brother’s reasons.

When it seemed as though everyone had assembled, Rhaegar looked at Lyanna.

“Are you ready?” he asked her.

“Always,” answered Lyanna. Rhaegar squeezed his wife’s hand affectionately, then turned to his assembled Kingsguard on duty, Sers Gerold Hightower, Brandon Stark and Jaime Lannister.

“Is everything in order?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Ser Gerold, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. “Your children and siblings are ready when you are.”

“Let us begin,” said Rhaegar. He stood up from his chair and raised a hand into the air, and in response the crowd clapped and cheered his name, the sound a thunderous boom that rang in his ears.

“Lords, ladies, people of the Seven Kingdoms!” shouted Rhaegar, “welcome to another year of the Autumn Festival, I hope that you are as excited as I am!” The crowd responded with a resounding approval which made Rhaegar chuckle. “As always, the Festival will begin with our dragon show! My family has worked tirelessly in making sure that this year’s will be better than last year’s as we believe you all deserve nothing but the best!” he continued, “but I shall say no more. You came for dragons, now here they are!”

The crowd’s applause was drowned out by a terrific shriek, and briefly a great shadow passed overhead, temporarily blocking out the sun. An enormous white dragon with red horns, frills and rings flew up into the sky, its white scales glistening in the mid-afternoon light. Trailing behind it came a slightly smaller dragon with black scales, and barely seen on top of it, a petite woman with silvery-blonde hair wearing a violet dress. Daenerys, Rhaegar’s younger sister on top of her dragon, the mighty Drogon. The first dragon was Rhaegar’s own, a colossal beast named Vhagarion. The two dragons circled one another like winged serpents as they climbed high into the air, then at an unheard command, the let loose their flaming breath, white and black. The dragon fires mingled together to create one massive stream of grey, and the crowd cheered.

The cheering only grew in intensity when two more dragons appeared, one emerald green with bronze horns and wings and the other as yellow as Lannister gold. Atop of them were Rhaegar’s two eldest children, Princess Rhaenys riding her emerald Coraxes, and the Crown Prince Aegon atop his golden Baelor. The four dragons flew around each other before being joined by Rhaegar’s younger brother Viserys and his blue and grey Merax. The five dragons performed death-defying stunts in the air, many of which had people gasping and the Kingsguard tense with worry. It was impossible to protect a royal when one was trapped on the ground like a mortal.

The five dragons formed a circle in the air, their wingspans so wide that their shadows formed a dark ring around the borders of the inside of the dragon pit. At another command, the five dragons breathed their fires together, creating a spectacular multicoloured flame of grey, gold, green and blue. They held that steady breath of flame, and Rhaegar leaned forward on his seat excitedly, waiting for the purplish-blue flame that belonged to his youngest son’s dragon to disperse the rainbow smoke. But nothing happened. Confused, somebody up in the air ordered the dragons to let loose their fires again, creating even more multicoloured smoke, but again, there was no response. Where was the purplish-blue flame of Rhaegar’s youngest son’s dragon?

“Where is Jon?” said Lyanna, echoing Rhaegar’s thoughts.

“He should be here by now,” replied Rhaegar. Just then, another knight in the white armour and cloak of the Kingsguard appeared with a panicked expression on his face. Arthur Dayne, the deadliest of Rhaegar’s Kingsguard and the Sword of the Morning raced up onto the platform housing the king and queen, sweaty and red-faced under his short beard.

“He’s gone,” he said quietly but urgently.

“Gone? Gone where?” demanded Lyanna fiercely, then she sighed deeply. “He’s gone free riding again, hasn’t he?”

“It would seem to be that way,” said Arthur, his voice showing his distress.

“We will deal with Jon when he returns,” said Rhaegar with as much calm as he could muster, “but for now, we have a dragon show to watch.”

* * *

The wind blew past the rider as he and the dragon he rode upon flew faster than a scorpion arrow through the sky high above Dragonstone. The day was gorgeously beautiful and sunny, the wind a mere breeze down below and the ocean a majestic turquoise world, the perfect weather for flying. Seagulls squawked in fright as as the dragon flew into their flocks and scattered them, but the rider just laughed and petted the top of the dragon’s head affectionately.

Dragonstone itself was a bleak island, but it had many rocky arches and pillars which afforded the rider and his dragon opportunities to push themselves to the limits in order to become the best dragon rider ever. The dragon’s tail fins would twist and turn, directing them to where they needed to go much like a rudder would steer a ship, only much faster and more accurate. They were so fast that they would create a whistling noise as they sailed through the air.

The rider held on tightly to the metal bar on his saddle as he directed his dragon through the misty pillars of Dragonstone, using practised techniques via touch and voice, as well as a strange mental connection that nobody could explain. The relationship between the rider and the dragon were unparalleled; no human had ever been so close to a dragon before in an almost familial bond. It certainly helped that this dragon was by far the smartest of all known dragons and that they had been together since birth.

As for the rider, he was lean-bodied, dressed in smooth, black leather armour with brown leather straps crisscrossing it to hold it in place. On his left shoulder the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen was painted to the leather, the snarling grey wolf’s head of House Stark was pinned directly over his heart and acted as a silver brooch to one of the leather straps that went from his shoulder down to his right waist. His arms were covered in black leather with red marks painted on them, and he wore fingerless gloves. His head was completely covered with a black leather helmet that was simple in design and streamlined, with large triangular eyeholes that revealed grey eyes so dark they were almost black, and from the piece of leather right between the eyes, three lines of pointy stubs like small dragon horns traveled up the the top of the helm, drifting further apart the further they climbed. It made for a fearsome yet impressive appearance of the rider, but the dragon underneath him was even more so.

Compared to the other Targaryen dragons, this one looked nothing like them. It had no serpentine features, except for its unusually long tail and the singular ridge of blunt triangular spines that began halfway down its back that were more designed for cutting through air than serving any combative purpose. It was completely black, darker than Drogon or even Balerion the Black Dread, and had four legs and a pair of incredibly long and wide wings instead of the classic four limbs. Its neck was short and thick with a round, wide and flat head attached to the end. The dragon’s head was very feline, it had large, green eyes with black square-shaped pupils, a ridge of tiny bumps running up the centre of its skull, a wide mouth, and four sets of ear-like fins, the outer two sets were short and stubby, the third pair long, triangular and resembling cat’s ears and the innermost pair short as well.

“I want to try something,” said the rider, and the dragon’s ‘ears’ perked up to listen. “Take me higher.”

The dragon obeyed and flew vertically upwards before hovering. Far down below, Dragonstone looked like. small model on a table, and the air was thinner. The rider unhooked himself from the saddle, then gently petted his dragon’s head.

“You ready?” he asked, and the dragon warbled in response. The rider jumped off the dragon’s back and dove vertically down, and the dragon dove after him, catching up to him easily. The rider could feel himself gaining speed, and the ocean and island were coming up to meet him rapidly.

“NOW!” bellowed the rider, and the dragon grabbed him by the arms with its front paws then spread its wings out, and instantly their descent was slowed until both rider and dragon landed safely on the grass of the island, right next to a cliff.

“That was fun!” exclaimed the rider excitedly, but the dragon gave him an ‘oh really’ look and smacked him over the head lightly with its tail.

“Oh come on Toothless, you loved that!’ said the rider as he rubbed the back of his head. He then took off his helm, revealing the face of a handsome young man with curly black hair almost down to his shoulders and a short, well-trimmed beard. This was Jaeherys ‘Jon’ Targaryen, the youngest son of Rhaegar and only child of Lyanna, second in line for the throne and Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. He looked more Stark than Targaryen, with his dark hair, grey eyes and wild appearance, a true northerner raised in the South of king’s Landing. Yet despite his looks, Jon was more dragon than his older siblings combined. No one had ever possessed the ability to fly the way Jon did, at least according to his father. It certainly helped that his dragon Toothless was born to fly better than any of the other dragons and much smaller. Toothless was only about three times the size of a horse with a streamlined but powerful build, and in many ways he was far more deadlier than the others.

“So what do you say we head back home and tell Mother and Father of our latest adventure?” suggested Jon to his dragon.

Toothless looked at him oddly, and Jon frowned.

“What?” he asked. The dragon responded by letting out a low warble, which almost sounded like a laugh, and as Jon put his helmet back on and climbed onto Toothless’ back, suddenly remembered and slapped his armoured forehead. _Oh no_! He had completely forgotten about the opening ceremony of the Autumn Festival, which was today!

“Seven Hells,” swore Jon, “Mother and Father are going to kill me.” He then leaned forward while Toothless tilted his head upwards. “Do you think Mother will be kind to us?”

Toothless huffed in amusement.

“Yep, we’re dead,” sighed Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please if you have time take a minute to leave a review!


	3. The Fury of Ice and Fire

Jon could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he walked through the empty hall of the throne room. High above hung the skulls of Targaryen dragons long since passed, though their empty eyes socket bore holes into the back of Jon's head as he walked towards the throne. Every now and again Toothless, who was following Jon closely, would nudge him in the back to keep him moving forward. The throne room also wasn’t entirely empty as Jon originally though, as he saw Daenerys and Rhaenys on one side giving him sympathetic yet disappointed looks while on the other side, Aegon had a furious expression, yet next to him Viserys looked gleeful at Jon’s impending conflict. 

Daenerys, Aegon and Viserys all had the typical Targaryen features, with their silvery-blonde hair, pale skin and violet eyes, while Rhaenys was all Dornish like her long-passed mother, dark brown hair and golden skin. the only sign she was the daughter of the king were her purple eyes. Up on the dais next to the ugly Iron Throne was mother, who was a classic Stark with her dark hair and eyes, which currently were filled with a frozen fury directed at Jon which sent chills down his spine.

But today, it was was his father who he truly feared seeing. Rhaegar himself sat upon the Iron Throne, garbed in the red and black of his House with his ruby-encrusted crown mantled above his brow. His long, silver hair had several small braids running through it, but was otherwise free, and his beard short and well-groomed. His expression gave nothing away, but Jon could tell that he was more than disappointed. 

“You did not come to the dragon show,” said Father, his voice deep and rich as it echoed through the throne room.

“I did not,” affirmed Jon.

“May I ask why?” questioned Father.

“Would you believe me if I said I forgot?”

“And why did you forget?”

“The weather was beautiful and I wanted to go flying.”

“Gods Jaeherys, you would have been able to go flying anyway!” said Mother in an exasperated tone. Oh, she was using his real name, which really meant he was in trouble.

“I don’t like flying with others,” defended Jon simply.

“Perhaps if your dragon was a little larger, he would fit in with the rest of us,” chimed in Viserys from behind Jon. 

“Perhaps if you weren’t as slow or stupid like your’s, you might actually beat me in the training yard for once,” Jon easily fired back without looking over his shoulder. He heard Viserys gasp of offence, which only made Jon’s lips twitch upwards.

“How dare you! I am the blood of the dragon!” shrieked Viserys, sounding most offended by his nephew.

“And I am both dragon and wolf,” retorted Jon, turning around on his feet to stare down at his uncle, “now which one of us has more cause to fear?”

“Enough,” commanded Father, and Viserys fell silent as his insult died on his tongue. Jon winked at his uncle before turning back to his parents.

“Jon, your selfish actions have left a bad image upon our House,” continued Father. “Your absence reflects upon how I am seen as king in the minds of my subjects.”

“We had had Lord Varys sending his birds all over the city spreading rumours of Toothless’ false sickness in order to cover up your misdeeds!” added Mother. “What would people think if they saw your father as being unable to control his own son, let alone the entire realm? Ser Arthur was worried sick for you!”

“I disappear on him all the time,” said Jon callously.

“Which is why h. is starting to get grey hairs,” chided Mother. “He cannot fulfil his oath to protect you if you won’t let him!”

“I can take care of myself, I have Toothless with me all the time!” argued Jon. At the bottom of the dais, Toothless let out a bark of agreement. “And besides, I am almost as good as Arthur with a sword.”

“That is not the point,” said Father. “The point is that you have embarrassed our family in front of many of the Great Houses of Westeros. You are twenty years old, a man grown, act like it.” 

"I am starting to regret ever sending you North to foster at Winterfell my son, you have become more arrogant than ever, especially since you helped end the Bolton Rebellion," sighed Mother.

Jon internally winced. When he was fourteen, he had been sent North to foster for three years under Uncle Ned's guardianship. Four days after his fifteenth name day, the Boltons had declared war on House Stark and sent emissaries all across the North requesting support to overthrow Jon's family on his mother's side, but fortunately no love had been lost between House Bolton and the rest of the North, leaving them alone. The entire North had rallied together and laid siege on the Dreadfort, but the fortress had been designed to repel any form of assault for years, making it virtually impregnable. Jon and his cousin had been forbidden from participating in the battle by Uncle Ned, but that hadn't stopped Jon. During the siege, Jon had slipped away from Winterfell under cover of the night's darkness with Toothless and together, utterly decimated the entire castle in minutes. Toothless had a unique breath weapon of superheated plasma that only fired a single concentrated shot at a time, but it was as explosive as wildfire and could destroy an entire fortress with only a few shots. 

That was how Jon and Toothless had defeated the Boltons. Virtually invisible in the darkness, Toothless' shots never missed and they had completely destroyed the Boltons that night, forever ending their line. Of course,, Jon had received a major scolding from Lord and Lady Stark for defying their orders, but from that time forth Jon had become known all across Westeros as the Night Fury.

Jon looked around the throne room while he was being verbally assaulted by his parents, seeking for help from his siblings or aunt. But Daenerys and Rhaenys, who were usually his greatest supporters said nothing, which meant that even they agreed with the king and queen. Even Toothless was giving Jon a look that said, I told you so. 

“Traitor,” hissed Jon to his dragon, then looked back up at his parents. “Well, I suppose you wish to punish me,” he said.

“Indeed we must,” said Father. 

“Well, I will be off to my rooms now, you probably do not want your disgraced son’s presence attending tonight’s ball,” he said with false sadness. However, Mother and Father shared a look with each other which instantly put Jon on edge.

“On the contrary Jon, we would like nothing more than for you to attend tonight,” said Mother sweetly, her dark eyes glittering with mischief. It was that look that reminded Jon of his cousin Arya whenever she planned on doing something that would end up with somebody getting into trouble. 

“You will sing, you will eat, drink, talk with as many lords as you can, and you will dance with as many noble ladies as comes your way,” added Father, “and try to find a prospective wife while you are at it, the Gods know you need somebody to reign in your wold ways.”

“No!” yelled Jon. They were about to make him live his worst nightmare!

“But before that, you need to go to the training yards to show Ser Arthur that you are almost as good as he is with a sword,” continued mother, that glint in her eyes intensifying.

“Oh, Severn Hells!” swore Jon loudly. 

-

Jon had never been so reluctant to go to the yards in his life. Of his siblings, he had always been the one most eager to train to become a warrior like his father and Arthur Dayne, and ever since he had first picked up a wooden sword when he was a small boy, people had praised his skill. It certainly helped that he had the likes of Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy for teachers. Jon considered it his greatest skill right after dragon riding. Aegon, while he liked to fight also, preferred the harp and reading, much like their father, and Rhaenys used her words as effectively as a sword to fight her battles. 

By now, somebody had told Arthur that Jon was boasting of his skills, and was about to be severely humbled. And it seemed that they had been shouting it through the Red Keep, because Jon was startled by the sheer number of people gathered at the training yards. Visiting lords and ladies from all over the realm lined the yards and balconies, all clamouring to see the dark-haired prince battle his mentor. Even the servants and men-at-arms were there.

“Fucking Aegon,” muttered Jon darkly as he continued down to the yard. Only his older brother would find this so amusing. He ignored the hoots and cheering of his name and climbed over the fence into the largest ring, where Arthur was waiting for him.

Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, was a Kingsguard and almost universally accepted as the deadliest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, and maybe even Essos across the Narrow Sea as well. A son of Starfall, he had earned his fame though his chivalry and acts of heroism all across Westeros, and also that he wielded the legendary greatsword Dawn, forged from the ore of a fallen star with the strength, sharpness and lightness of Valyrian steel, perhaps even better. Said sword was currently propped against the fence of the yard, the milky white blade protected by a magnificent sheath. 

Arthur was Jon’s personal Kingsguard, but to the young prince he was family, an uncle-figure much like Ned or Brandon Stark, or the uncle Viserys should have been. He was a polite-yet reserved man who rarely smiled, full of chivalry and honour; exactly what a knight should strive to be. As Jon looked at his mentor, he was again impressed by him. Arthur was tall and broad-shouldered, with lightly tanned skin, short, dark hair and a beard streaked with little streaks of silver. His eyes were a blue that occasionally looked purple, but it wasn’t the bright violet of the Targaryens. 

“You are late, Your Grace,” said Arthur with a light grin.

“You already know why,” grumbled Jon.

Arthur hummed in agreement as he grabbed two blunted tourney swords and handed one to Jon. “I heard from a reliable source of some things you said about me, Your Grace,” he said lightly as he spun and whirled the sword like it was natural.

“Aegon is hardly a reliable source,” said Jon.

“Twas not Aegon Your Grace, but Princess Daenerys,” replied Arthur. 

The traitor! thought Jon bitterly. “Why the formalities Arthur? You never call me ‘Your Grace’.” He really did not want to be doing this.

“We have a crowd watching,” was all Arthur said.

“my family must have told everyone in the damn city,” grumbled Jon.

“No, just the keep,” said Arthur, then he readied himself into a fighting stance. “Please go easy on me, my sisters are here watching.”

“Oh shut up,” snapped Jon, and then the match began.

For a long time the only thing that happened was the two men circling each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. This was how all their fights began, and usually it took up most of the first round. Jon could not allow himself to get distracted, especially against the Sword of the Morning. 

Eventually Arthur first, with a stab so quick that Jon barely raised his sword up in time to parry it. He didn’t have time to think, because Arthur swiftly followed up with three more strikes just as fast as the first, driving Jon backwards. Jon however successfully parried the attacks and then went on the offensive himself, and he aimed his attacks at Arthur’s side, shoulder and head. Arthur barely blocked the attack to his head, and he smiled admiringly. 

“Congratulations, you almost got me that time,” said Arthur, “perhaps you were not boasting out of pride.”

Jon noticed the beads of sweat on Arthur’s brow, giving the prince some satisfaction as it meant that he was actually pushing the knight.

“I think you are just getting old,” quipped Jon with a grin.

“For goodness sake, stop chatting and FIGHT!” boomed the voice of Lord Robert Baratheon, and the rest of the crowd cheered their agreement.

Jon and Arthur went at it again as the cheering grew louder. Jon was feeling his arms and shoulders begin to burn intensely, but he couldn’t give up now, he had to win! Even Arthur was starting to look a little tired after fighting for more than ten minutes, his red face was a sure indication of that. Jon swung his sword as hard as he could at Arthur’s exposed head, this was it!

Suddenly though Arthur ducked under the sword with a burst of speed, throwing Jon off balance. He felt Arthur’s sword smack him hard on the side of the head, ringing it and making him feel a sudden bout of dizziness, and when he turned around his face collided into a fist, and he was knocked down onto his back. Blood welled up inside his mouth, the taste of iron feeling unpleasant, and he spat it out. 

As he looked up, a sword was at his throat and Arthur towered over him.

“Do you yield?” asked Arthur, his voice low and dangerous.

“I yield,” conceded Jon. Arthur smirked and helped the prince up. then patted him on the shoulder.

“You fought well today,” he complimented. “You are well on your way to becoming the finest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“I wish it did not have to hurt so much,” replied Jon as he rubbed the side of his head tenderly. “Is my face okay?”

“Your lip is split, but I am certain any lady would overlook it tonight after witnessing you today,” said Arthur, which made Jon sigh in resignation. But then Arthur grabbed Jon’s arm and lifted it up into the air and let out a loud laugh.

“Jaeherys Targaryen, the Night Fury!” he boomed to the audience.

“The Night Fury!” cheered the crowd.

As he was applauded, Jon noticed a young man with silver hair and violet eyes glaring down at him before disappearing into the crowd. Jon sighed internally, it seemed as though Aegon’s idea of what was going to happen was not what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Jon reluctantly attends the ball and meets a new friend!


	4. Mikaena Dayne

Jon tugged at the collar of his black jerkin uncomfortably as he walked to the hall where the feast and ball would be held. His mother and Father led the way to the hall, lovestruck expressions permanently plastered on their faces as they looked at each other. While Jon was happy for their happiness, it also made him sick. He had no intentions of ever getting married, regardless of what his parents said. Half the point of the ball was for young ladies to force their attentions onto him, which only pissed off Jon more. Aegon was lucky, he’d already been promised Margaery Tyrell from the Reach, and he was a natural with the ladies. That was one thing Aegon had over Jon, his easiness with large groups of people, or even people in general. It was a great characteristic to have as future king, but Jon wanted nothing to do with the crown. All he wanted was to fly with Toothless west of Westeros, away from all care and responsibility.

“You are brooding again,” said Daenerys from his side. Jon scowled.

“I am not,” he protested.

“You are, I can tell,” insisted Dany quietly, “you have that deep frown on your face that gives it away.”

Jon’s scowl only deepened and he looked away from his aunt. In truth, he wasn’t angry at her, she was his best friend after all, but Jon really didn’t want to be going to this feast at all. He’d try his damnedest to sneak out, even if he had to call Toothless over to save him.

The front doors into the hall were opened up by two guards, and the enormous mass of gathered nobles all clapped politely as the royal family entered. Mother and Father were first, followed by Aegon and Rhaenys, then Jon and Dany, and lastly Viserys, who had no partner, but his superior grin more than made up for his apparent loneliness. Jon had to resist the urge to stop walking so that his arrogant uncle could trip over his body and embarrass himself, but he let it slide. Jon would find some other way to humiliate Viserys later on tonight.

Jon’s scowl did not fade away as the gathered noble lords and ladies continued to clap, and his mood only darkened even further when they sat down at the high table to eat the ridiculous ten course meal prepared. No one person could eat ten whole courses in one night, and he sincerely hoped that the leftovers would be sent amongst the smallfolk in Flea Bottom.

The night wore on, and still Jon sat in his seat, ignoring all attempts by both Dany and Rhaenys to get him to talk. His eyes had constantly been roaming the hall, searching for an exit, but every bloody door and window was guarded by somebody, no doubt under orders from Mother to prevent any escape. Jon swore quietly under his breath, angry at everything. Of course, it was his own bloody fault: he should have remembered to attend the dragon show, but he wasn’t going to admit that just yet. He was too stubborn like his mother.

Eventually, Father announced for the tables to be moved, and the servants rushed in from the edges of the hall and pushed all the tables to the side, creating a large space in the centre of the hall. The minstrels picked up their instruments and began to play. Many of the lords invited the ladies to dance, and soon, the entire hall was full of merry men and women dancing to the music. The whole sight made Jon sick. As Jon drained his fifth cup of ale, a hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to see mother looking down at him with a smug grin.

“I thought we told you to go and socialise,” she said.

“I think this is punishment enough,” snapped Jon quietly but angrily.

“You are not going out with Toothless tonight,” warned Mother.

“As if I have a choice,” scoffed Jon before downing another cup of ale.

“You have to admit Jon, this isn’t so bad,” continued Mother. “There are lots of highborn ladies here tonight dying to meet your acquaintance.”

“Let’s hope they die quickly so I don’t have to,” quipped Jon darkly.

“Jaeherys, _enough_ ,” said Mother angrily. “It is your own fault you decided to shame us.”

“Yeah well...” Jon trailed off, unwilling to finish his sentence. He had already begun planning his exile west the moment he had walked into the hall. It’s not like anyone would care. He’d heard the rumours around Court. Whispers in the dark behind his back amongst the people, of how he was more animal than man, explaining his close relationship to his dragon. Others said he was a dim wit, little more than a weapon, and that Aegon planned to ship him off to Essos the moment he was crowned king. As a boy, Jon had never cared for the insults, especially after he had come home from Winterfell after destroying the Boltons. People feared Jon, but over the years time had worn that away and the backstabbing had started again. Now, Jon could only take so much before he was on the verge of snapping.

“Now, stop your sulking and go out and socialise before I get Ser Arthur to drag you,” said Mother with a tone of finality.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking joking!” hissed Jon, but he stood up and went down anyway.

He heard a few startled whispers at his coming down from the high table, and they did a shoddy job of hiding their surprise. Unfortunately, the surprise wore off very quickly and soon lords were practically pushing their daughters onto Jon, all clamouring for a chance to present their fair (and not so fair) ladies so that he might marry one of them. Jon was reminded of the fact that not ten minutes ago, these same men and women were whispering behind his back.

Jon schooled his features into a mask of politeness and talked to every single one of the maidens presented to him, though inside he was reeling. He could have easily blamed it on the large amount of alcohol he had consumed earlier, which was partly to blame but Jon feared that it was only enhancing his already-foul mood. Oh well, if it kept the aspiring lords from throwing their daughters at him in hopes of climbing the Court hierarchy, then Jon wan’t going to complain. But he certainly wished he was still in the North, where social appearances meant less than a swine’s shit in the Wolfswood.

When Jon couldn’t take it anymore, he quietly slipped over to the window guarded by Arthur, grabbing some fish and hiding it under his jerkin. If anyone could help him escape, it was the Dornish knight. As he walked towards his guardian, Jon called out for Toothless through the strange connection they shared, and he could feel the dragon’s eager response. Soon, they’d be out of there!

However, that quickly proved to be a lot harder than Jon thought because Arthur stood steadfast and immovable.

“You are not going anywhere tonight Your Grace,” said Arthur, the corners of his lips tipped upwards slightly in amusement.

“Come on Arthur, you have to get me out of here,” urged Jon quietly, “I’m going to die here.”

“That is an exaggeration,” said Arthur. Jon glared at him.

“You think this is so funny, don’t you?” he snapped.

“A little bit,” admitted Arthur humorously, “I do find you being out of your comfort zone most amusing. It will do you some good in the long run I imagine.”

“I’m _ordering_ you to let me pass,” hissed Jon angrily.

“I would follow your order, except I am under orders from your father the king to ignore any and all orders you give me,” said Arthur, now full on smiling.

Jon sighed heavily and looked around for any help. Unfortunately, nobody was currently paying any attention to him or Arthur right now, but in the back of his mind, he could feel Toothless’ presence getting closer rapidly.

“Please, Arthur,” begged Jon. “Just ten minutes to get some air, I need it!”

Arthur’s smile disappeared as he looked down at the pleading prince, not saying a word for a long time. Just as Jon was beginning to think that he was going to be denied yet again, Arthur sighed and said, “Ten minutes, no more.”

Jon could have kissed the knight if he could, but the clock was ticking so he quickly ducked outside, but not before calling out, “Don’t let anyone disturb me!”

Toothless was already waiting outside, his big green eyes glowing like a cat’s in the darkness. He was partly hanging off the ledge so that only his head and shoulders could be seen, and the small black dragon stuck out his tongue out of the side of his toothless mouth, hence his name.

“Here you go my friend,” said Jon, pulling out one of the fish he had smuggled and tossed it to Toothless. The dragon’s mouth was suddenly filled with sharp teeth, coming out of his gums with a loud _snikt!_ and he ate the fish whole. Toothless gave Jon a funny look, one that the prince instantly recognised.

“No Toothless, don’t do-” started Jon as he raised his hands out forwards. Toothless regurgitated the fish’s head, sending it flying forwards. Jon ducked and the head sailed over his head, smacking into the stone wall behind him with a wet thud. Jon sighed, then looked back at Toothless, who was grinning (if it could even be called a grin).

“Gods damn it, I don’t want Mother or Father to know you’re here,” said Jon exasperatedly. He walked over and stroked the top of Toothless’ head affectionately, and the dragon let out a purr in contentment.

“One day bud, we’ll be free,” said Jon quietly when he stopped petting his dragon, then leaned over the balcony and stared out into the city. Most of King’s Landing was dark, with only the full moon and a few torches to light it. The moon reflected off the dark surface of Blackwater Bay, giving the entire bay an ethereal feeling to it. From the balcony, Jon could barely smell the stench from Flea Bottom, but it was there. In recent years Aegon had made it his mission to clean up the entire city, and Jon had to admit, he’d done a good job.

As Jon stood outside with Toothless, he thought about what they might find beyond the mysterious West. He had a theory, but many laughed it off and called him an imaginative fool. Jon believed that Toothless’ kind were from the west, explaining his unique physiology and why nobody knew anything about his kind, and also why he’s the only one. Again, it was just a theory, but the only people who supported him on this were his mother, sister and Dany. Oh, and the Starks up North. But that didn’t mean that Mother wanted _him_ to be the one leading the expedition west.

Beside Jon, Toothless suddenly perked his head up, looking towards the open entryway into the hall. _Seven Hells_ , thought Jon, was Arthur already back? Toothless looked at Jon one last time, then quickly licked him from the middle of his jerkin up across the left side of his face, then let go of the balcony.

“Damn it Toothless, you know this doesn’t wash out!” roared Jon angrily as he tried rubbing the slime off his face and clothes. The only response he got was a loud shriek from Toothless, and Jon completely lost sight of the dragon as he flew into the dark night. Jon swore under his breath as he heard footsteps coming up behind him.

“I already know Arthur, just give me a-” Jon shut up, because the person standing in front of him was not Arthur.

It was a woman, roughly the same age as Jon, and she had light brown skin, a square face with a pointed chin, and the top of her dark brown hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her head, leaving the sides and back hanging loose over her back and shoulders. She wore a dark purple dress with glittering silver shapes like stars that shimmered in the moon and torchlight every time she moved. She was probably one of the most beautiful women Jon had ever seen and apparently, she hadn’t noticed him because she was looking down at her feet.

“Oh! I am so sorry my lord!’ she said once she saw him, and she froze in her tracks, her eyes wide with surprise. Jon noticed that her eyes were a deep purple, and they were a familiar colour that Jon couldn’t quite place.

“Do not worry,” said Jon. If it weren’t for the fact that she looked like she’d just gotten the fright of her life, he’d be more than a little annoyed.

“I thought nobody was here and I needed some air and- oh! You are Prince Jaeherys!” the lady exclaimed, and Jon could just barely make out the reddening of her cheeks.

“It’s fine, honestly My Lady,” said Jon placatingly. He’d definitely never seen her before, otherwise he would have remembered her.

“I’m sorry, I’ll just leave now-” continued the lady, and she began to turn around back to the hall.

“No, please don’t leave on my account,” insisted Jon, and he moved a little to the side so that there was room on the balcony ledge for another person. The lady hesitated just for a moment, before she lifted her chin up and walked with confidence to stand next to Jon. For a few minutes, Jon didn’t say anything, instead preferring to look out over the bay. The lady next to him did not seem to mind though, which was good, because Jon was awful at talking to girls, especially beautiful girls.

“Did you come out here to escape the endless game of thrones as well?” the lady asked suddenly, and Jon was thankful for her initiating the conversation.

“Partly, but I have never been fond of feasts in general my lady,” answered Jon. “And they are certainly made worse by lords forcing their daughters onto me.”

“I agree. One of the Stormlands lordlings tried to lure me into a secluded corner about five minutes ago,” said the lady.

“How did you get away from him?” asked Jon curiously.

“I told him who my uncle was,” the lady replied simply.

“Who is your uncle?”

“You already know him.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Do I?” he asked.

“Well of course, you are around him every day,” said the lady, and a grin was gracing her features now.

Jon sensed that this woman was playing games with him- what did Aegon call it? _Flirting_. He’d had a lot of women try this form of interaction with him in the past and most recently tonight during the feast, but Jon had never been good at it neither did he particularly enjoy it, but for some reason this woman and her relaxed, carefree attitude had him wanting to talk with her more.

“I sense that you are not going to tell me who your uncle is, my lady,” said Jon. “Perhaps I should ask for your name instead?”

“Perhaps you should,” replied the lady, her eyebrow raised expectantly.

_Damn, I thought I had already implied that?_ thought Jon. “And what is your name?”

“Mikaena,” answered the lady.

“Lady Mikaena of House...” Jon trailed off, expecting Mikaena to finish, but instead her grin turned mischief and a glint appeared in her purple eyes.

“You will have to ask my uncle about that,” she said instead.

“I should have guessed,” muttered Jon under his breath, but Mikaena heard it anyway and she let out a musical laugh that made Jon himself smile.

“Perhaps I should return to the feast,” said Mikaena with a sigh, and she turned around to go back.

“May I escort you, my lady? I promised Ser Arthur that I would only be out here very shortly,” asked Jon, and for some reason, he found himself sincerely hoping Mikaena would say yes.

“It would be my honour, Prince Jaeherys,” said Mikaena.

Jon offered her his arm, which she took and together they walked back into the hall. The loud noises of singing and instruments playing filled Jon’s ears, slightly disgruntling him again, but not as badly as before.

“This is where I take my leave, I fear that all this eating and pretending to be nice has left me somewhat exhausted,” said Mikaena. Jon knew that he should have offered to escort her, but the words got caught on his tongue.

Instead he settled for merely placing a gentle kiss on Mikaena’s hand and said, “have a good rest, Lady Mikaena. I hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so too, Your Grace,” said Mikaena. She curtsied gracefully before taking her leave, disappearing into the throng of dancers. Jon couldn’t help but smile at her retreating form, and he felt that he truly did see her again.

“I see you have met Lady Mikaena,” said a voice behind Jon. The prince spun around to see Arthur standing there with a knowing smirk on his face, which put Jon on edge.

“She is different from the other ladies I have met,” said Jon cautiously.

“Of course she is, she is Dornish,” laughed Arthur. “Dornish women tend to be more upfront than the rest of the women across the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You seem to know Lady Mikaena quite well,” said Jon suspiciously. “And I thought I told you not to let anyone disturb me.”

“I have only met her once, but she is very much like her mother,” replied Arthur. “And I couldn’t refuse my own niece, could I?”

“She’s your niece?!” spluttered Jon incredulously. Well, it certainly explained a lot then.

Arthur let out a chuckle and patted his hand on Jon's shoulder, but then quickly pulled away with a look of disgust on his face. 

"What is on your jerkin?!" he demanded.

"Oh, Toothless licked me just before Lady Mikaena joined me outside," said Jon ruefully. He definitely needed to have this jerkin washed as soon as possible. He only hoped that Lady Mikaena hadn't noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	5. The Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has breakfast with his family before going for a walk to the palace gardens with Toothless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just Saw HTTYD 3 and boy, the feels hit me hard at the end. WHY?!?!

When Jon woke up with a searing headache, he immediately regretted his decision on drinking so much ale the night before. In his room on the floor, Toothless looked up at him with a knowing look.

“Not a word,” grunted Jon before he hoisted himself out of the bed. He stumbled slightly as the room spun around him, but he managed to regain his footing and walked over to the nearby wash basin. He splashed some water onto his face, which helped to clear his head a little, but the raging headache was still there.

“I have made a terrible mistake,” sighed Jon. Toothless agreed by letting out a derisive snort. After cleaning himself up, Jon grabbed a fresh tunic and pants, put them on then put a few tiny braids in his hair on the side of his head, something he had liked doing since he was a boy. Once he had looked himself over in the looking glass, he and Toothless left his room and headed down to Mother and Father’s solar, where the family would be breaking their fast together.

Ser Jaime Lannister, Oswell Whent and Uncle Brandon stood guard outside, but they parted to the side, allowing their prince and his dragon to enter.

“You are late,” commented Uncle Brandon.

“Not today, I have a headache,” grumbled Jon. Uncle Brandon only laughed and opened the door for him. He was the last one there, and they all looked up when he arrived. Mother and Father were seated next to each other, with Aegon, Viserys and Rhaenys on Father’s right and Dany on Rhaenys’ right side. The table was circular, which meant that there truly was no sign of who was the superior, and there was a spare seat left over between Mother and Dany. Arthur, Sers Barristan, Lewyn Martell, Oswell Whent and Gerold Hightower were gathered as well, though they were not seated and were watching the royals with mixtures of duty and fondness on their expressions.

“Good morning Jon,” greeted Mother cheerily.

“You are late,” said Viserys in an upset voice, echoing Uncle Brandon's words. Jon ignored his uncle as he kissed Mother on the cheek and sat down before helping himself to some bacon and freshly-baked bread. Toothless crouched behind Jon’s chair, and Jon handed him a piece of bacon which he took gladly.

“Did you really have to bring that beast in here?” complained Aegon, staring at Toothless distastefully.

“Do you really have to ask that question every time our family breaks fast together?” retorted Jon lightly. “Do not lie, if your dragons were still small enough to fit inside the castle, you would do the same.” Nobody argued with that, so Jon sat back in his chair with a smug grin on his face.

However, that quickly disappeared when his headache returned, and he winced in pain.

“What is the matter?” asked Mother.

“Too much ale last night,” said Jon simply. There was a cough, and Jon looked up to see Arthur trying to hide his smile. Jon glared at the knight, who pretended not to notice, so he continued eating.

“And how was the feast for everyone?” asked Father, addressing everybody.

“It was marvellous!” gushed Rhaenys. “There were so many fine lordlings and knights there, I can’t remember all of their faces but they all seemed so wonderful!”

Typical Rhaenys, so full of life and wonder that was completely her own. But Jon loved his older sister for it.

“You and I have a very different opinion on what happened last night dear niece,” said Dany. “Blasted Lord Garlan Tyrell would not leave me alone.”

“It is a shame somebody already took your heart, dear Dany,” said Aegon, “I’m sure many lords’ hearts will be broken.”

“She’s too good for any of them anyway,” muttered Jon. “Half of them are power-hungry bastards looking for any opportunity to sink their claws into Court.”

“You seem oddly defensive of your aunt brother, have you a desire for her yourself?” asked Aegon. It sounded like a question, but Jon could detect the mockery in his voice.

“Daenerys is more of my sister than you are my brother in some ways, Aegon,” said Jon coolly. Aegon’s indigo eyes narrowed, but he did not rise to the bait.

“Come now brothers, you can measure each other’s cocks in the training yard,” laughed Rhaenys. “But how was the feast for you Jon?”

“Terrible, the worst punishment I have ever received,” said Jon glumly.

“At least it wasn’t the Night’s Watch,” offered Dany.

“I’d much rather serve on the Wall than go to another feast like that,” said Jon.

“That is not what Ser Arthur told me,” said Mother. “He said you spent a fair amount of time talking to his niece, Lady Mikaena Dayne.”

Jon looked up at his guardian mutinously, but Arthur only grinned at him. “It was only for a few minutes,” he said.

“A few minutes is still longer than the time you spent talking to every other maiden there,” said Rhaenys lightly. “And from what Ser Arthur has told us, she wasn’t even interested in gaining your attentions, yet she did.”

“I was being polite,” said Jon lowly, his temper rising slightly.

“As are we all,” said Father with a rare grin on his face, “now tell me, did Lady Mikaena make the night more bearable?”

Jon hesitated for a long time. He was the most stubborn in his family, part of having both Stark and Targaryen blood in him, but even he had to admit that Lady Mikaena certainly helped Jon get through the rest of the feast after their short conversation.

“Yes,” he finally admitted quietly.

“I am sorry, but I do not think we caught that,” said Rhaenys, and everyone leant forward towards Jon eagerly.

“Yes!” repeated Jon, much more loudly this time. Everyone looked at Jon for a long time, and he knew that he had surprised them with his honesty. What he didn’t expect however was for everyone to break out in laughter, except for Viserys, but even he had a smile on his face. The bloody Kingsguard were laughing as well!

“We’ve cracked his icy heart!” roared Aegon as he laughed loudly.

“No brother, a Dayne of Starfall did what our dragonfire never could!” giggled Rhaenys.

“I am glad to see you all taking joy in my misery,” grumbled Jon.

“Oh settle down Jon, you know that we are only bantering with you,” said Mother placatingly, though even she was trying to contain her laughter.

“Well, this has been a fun breakfast,” said Jon as he stood up, careful not to wince as his head thumped again. “But I am afraid that I must take Toothless outside now, he grows restless when he’s cooped up for too long. Come boy.”

“You might want to take a walk through the gardens dear, the weather is beautiful today!” called out Mother.

As Jon, Toothless and Arthur all left Father’s solar, Jon let out a deep sigh of annoyance. “Annoying pricks,” he muttered.

“Ah, don’t let their positive attitudes on life make your’s worse,” said Arthur. “This is the first time anybody can remember you actually talking to a lady willingly.”

“I talk with Arya all the time,” snapped Jon.

“That’s different, she’s practically your sister,” Arthur shut down quickly.

“Yes well, I have no interest in finding love,” grumbled Jon.

“But we both know what happened the last time you loved a girl,” said Arthur sadly, but there was a hint of knowing there too.

Jon’s left eye twitched as he very clearly remembered. Sansa, Uncle Ned’s eldest daughter, had been Jon’s second friend in Winterfell after Arya. She was kind, a little naive, but an eager learner and she had quickly grown into one of the most beautiful women alive. She was the one who showed Jon around Winterfell when he first arrived, the one he snuck into the kitchens with to steal lemon cakes, the one who always cheered for him in the training yard. Sansa was also the reason why Jon had been able to sneak out of Winterfell with Toothless so that he could destroy the Boltons, and while they both got in serious trouble for it, they had only grown closer as a result of it.

At the close of his three year stay in the North, Jon had fallen in love with Sansa, and she him. It was she who he shared his first kiss with, pledged his love to, and he had written to his Father, requesting permission to marry Sansa, and then gone to Uncle Ned together to ask for his permission as well.

But it had ended in disaster. Uncle Ned had already promised Sansa’s hand to Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden and the Reach, and Father wanted Jon to marry Myrcella , daughter of Cersei Lannister and Stannis Baratheon. Jon had adamantly refused, fought with Uncle Ned, while Sansa had pled with Aunt Catelyn to convince Lord Stark to annul the betrothal so that she and Jon could marry. It had resulted in bitter feelings between Jon and his aunt and uncle, and ultimately Sansa had chosen duty over her love of Jon. He had left Winterfell that very month, with a broken heart and a more bitter and pessimistic personality, as well as a rebellious streak that refused to be tempered no matter what his parents tried. Of course, Jon had managed to mend the rift between himself and Lord and Lady Stark caused by the drama, having even flown all the way North on Toothless to apologise in person, but he had not talked to or seen Sansa since.

Neither had he forgiven her.

Since then, Jon had sworn that no one would ever take control of his life, and had blatantly refused marrying Lady Myrcella, partly because she was still so young. He had spurned every other marriage opportunity since then, and he firmly believed that he would never love another after Sansa.

“But perhaps you might find that love you once lost, this time with another,” offered Arthur hopefully.

“Are you hinting at your niece?” growled Jon.

“Of course not, but even you have to admit that you got along with her far better than any other lady you have met, the obvious excepted,” pointed out Arthur.

Jon sighed as he scratched his beard. “I don’t have time for courting anybody,” he said.

“As a prince still unmarried, it is all you should have time for,” said Arthur, but he said no more and allowed Jon to stew on his way down to the gardens.

Although the memories of Sansa had set off Jon’s temper, by the time he, Arthur and Toothless arrived in the keep’s gardens, he had simmered off somewhat. He knew that Arthur was only trying to be helpful, but sometimes the knight lacked finesse in his speaking, especially to Jon.

The autumn weather left the climate of King’s Landing with sunny skies and a cool breeze which felt pleasant on Jon’s face. The warm sun beat down gently upon the gardens, casting it in a nice, golden light that lit up the flowers and bushes like a fairytale. Under the pavilions sat numbers of lords and ladies eating their morning tea, laughing and talking amiably amongst themselves. Jon was too far to hear any of the conversations properly, but from what he could gather, it was about the upcoming festival, which was in its final stages of preparations before kicking off in a moon’s turn. With Toothless at his side, nobody dared to approach the brooding prince, which was ironic seeing as the dragon was currently chasing small birds and bees around the gardens, kicking up dirt and uprooting plants.

Jon gave the panting dragon a small smile before continuing onwards, though he kept an eye on Toothless, because he was known to be a bit overly friendly with people sometimes, a stark contrast to his fellow dragons. But for now, he seemed to be behaving himself, though Jon knew that Rhaenys would upset at the destroyed patch of roses.

“Ser Arthur!” called out a familiar voice that caught Jon’s attention. He turned around to see Lady Mikaena walking quickly, her hands holding up the lilac skirts of her dress towards the two men.

“My favourite niece,” greeted Arthur warmly. Lady Mikaena beamed up at her tall uncle before looking at Jon and curtseying politely.

“I’m your only niece,” she said with a roll of her eyes before turning to Jon. “Your Grace,” she greeted.

“Lady Mikaena, have you come to see your uncle?” said Jon.

“Yes. It has been so long since I last saw him,” answered Lady Mikaena, “though the sight of your dragon rolling around in the dirt certainly caught my attention.”

Jon glanced over towards Toothless to see he was indeed rolling around in the dry dirt, purring like a cat as he rubbed the top of his head in a little hole he had made. Sometimes Toothless could be very embarrassing, and Jon sighed as he felt his face burn.

“Forgive me, sometimes I think he is more feline than reptilian,” said Jon.

“Not too matter, it is amusing to see,” replied Mikaena before turning back to Arthur. “I am sorry that we were not able to talk more last night.”

“No apologies necessary. You seemed to be enjoying yourself very much,” said Arthur lightly.

Jon didn’t hear Lady Mikaena’s response because he walked away to Toothless in order to give them some privacy. Toothless sat up on his back legs, balancing on his tail and giving Jon the impression of a cat. His large, black irises flitted between Jon and Lady mikaena, and the prince sighed.

“She’s the one who sent you running last night,” said Jon. Toothless looked at the young Dayne lady and snorted, almost as though he did not approve. The only women Toothless had ever approved of were Sansa and Arya, but Jon wasn’t about to start thinking about them just yet. Maybe Arya, he hadn’t had time to see her yet, and they had planned to fly together on Toothless to Storm’s End so that he could drop her off to her husband Gendry sometime close to the festival.

Jon reached his hand out, palm facing forwards, and Toothless pressed the top of his head against it. It was something they always did, some kind of method to strengthen their bond, and Jon loved his dragon for it. It was something only they shared, this little act. It wasn’t from lack of trying though, but it was the way that people had to introduce themselves to Toothless. If he pressed his head against the person’s hand, it meant he accepted them, if not... well, that person best be clear quickly. Toothless had accepted just about everyone in his family, including the Starks but excepting Viserys, and the only non-related person was Arthur.

“He’s very different from the other dragons,” said the voice of Lady Mikaena from behind Jon. He turned around to see her standing close by, indigo eyes wide with curiosity. There wasn’t even a hint of fear in her countenance or eyes, which slightly impressed Jon.

“Aye, he is,” he confirmed.

“He looks very different from the others, acts very different, and is just...”

“Different,” finished Lady Mikaena.

Jon smiled slightly at that. “He is.”

“He’s the only known dragon of his kind,” said Lady Mikaena. “There is no record of any previous Targaryen dragon that comes anywhere near the description of your's. They were all usually lizard-like creatures with two wings and two legs and never stopped growing. Your dragon is small, unless he’s still very young?”

“No, Toothless stopped growing when we were ten years old,” said Jon. He was very impressed by Lady Mikaena’s knowledge of dragons, which probably meant she was a very smart woman. “He’s also the most friendly of the dragons. He has no issue with being around large groups of people and is usually willing to let strangers close by, but he’s also the most dangerous dragon in my opinion.”

“Why is that?” asked Lady Mikaena.

“A lot of things. The other dragons are incredibly dangerous, I’ll give them that. They are strong, vicious, their fire can melt the strongest steel and when they are almost fully grown their scales are almost impenetrable, but they are slow and rely purely on their instincts, making them predictable,” answered Jon.

“But your dragon is different because..?” Lady Mikaena trailed off as she waited for Jon’s answer.

“Because he’s smart,” said Jon. “And not in the sense of comparing one animal’s intelligence to another’s, he’s actually intelligent, even problem-solving intelligent. He understands human behaviour and can mimic them, he has feelings, like a human and can create traps better than some seasoned war veterans. He’s small, but that makes him a harder target to hit, and he’s easily the fastest and most aerodynamic dragon of any. He also knows how to fight on the ground because of his four legs.”

“He’s like a cat,” said Lady Mikaena, “I’ve noticed the way he moves around.”

“Yes, but his fire is far different too,” said Jon, “have you heard of the fall of the Boltons?”

“Of course I do, the whole of Westeros knows what you and your dragon did to them,” answered Lady Mikaena. “It is how you earned your nickname, ‘the Night Fury.’”

“It was because of his breath that we were able to destroy the Boltons so quickly,” said Jon. “His breath is not a stream of fire, it’s more like a bolt of something maesters call super-heated plasma. It doesn’t explode straight away, but when it does, it is like wildfire. That was how we destroyed the Boltons. Toothless’ breath tore down their towers and walls in seconds, and the soldiers did the rest.”

“A very different dragon,” said Lady Mikaena with a hint of wonder and awe in her voice. “You seem different from your family as well, if I may so bold Your Grace,” she continued. “Most, if not all of them love to be the centre of attention. They’re always dancing, always talking. But you hate that, don’t you? I noticed it last night from where I was sitting, you looked like you were about to call your dragon to burn the whole place down.”

“I’ve always been the black sheep of my family,” muttered Jon as he ducked his head. Toothless let out a small chirp to cheer him up, and Jon smiled gratefully at him before looking back at Lady Mikaena. “Would you like to meet Toothless? I think he would appreciate someone who knows so much about his kind.”

For the first time, Jon saw her hesitate slightly, but she steeled herself and stepped forward slowly. Toothless’ normally-wide pupils narrowed into vertical slits at the coming of the stranger, and he let out a low warning growl, but he did not move.

“Extend your hand like this,” said Jon quietly, and without thinking he gently grabbed Lady Mikaena’s hand with his own and turned it so that it was straight out. “Relax and hold it there. Best look away too, show him that you trust him enough not to hurt you.”

Lady Mikaena listened, and she turned her head away from Toothless so that she couldn’t see him, but kept her hand out. Toothless leaned forward slightly and sniffed the offered hand before looking at Jon briefly. He had seen this many a time: people eager to gain either his or Toothless’ trust would follow his instructions, but usually at this point the dragon would snort and turn away, so he was expecting the same to happen to Lady Mikaena.

But to Jon’s surprise, Toothless closed his eyes and pressed head his up against Lady Mikaena’s hand, much like he had done to Jon a few minutes earlier. He heard Lady Mikaena’s sharp intake of breath, and then looked at Arthur, who seemed as stunned as he was. Lady Mikaena turned her head to stare at the dragon, and Toothless pulled away and opened his eyes, the pupils back to their usual width. Toothless purred slightly before walking away, having now lost interest in everything in front of him.

“That was..” began Lady Mikaena and she trailed off, searching for the right words to say.

“He doesn’t usually do that,” said Jon quietly as he stared at the woman in front of him.

_Who was she?_

“Prince Jaeherys-” started Lady Mikaena.

“Jon,” he interrupted, surprising even himself for a moment. But if Toothless trusted this woman, then so did he. “My name is Jon.”

“Jon,” repeated Lady Mikaena. She smiled at him then. “If you wish to be on a first name basis with you, then I must insist that you simply call me Mikaena.” Jon smiled in return.

Perhaps he should get to know her after all.


End file.
